


that I shall love thee holy

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: under 1k fic [1]
Category: Christian Bible
Genre: Bibleslash, Biblical References, Gentle Kissing, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, judas is soft, references from the gospel of judas, sinning in a poetic way :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10467585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: Judas looks upon the man at his side.I would slay every Roman for him. God, If you're listening, hear the adoration in every breath. Thirty years is but a blink. We have only begun, he thinks."Do not doubt me, my Judas." Jesus replies, eyes downcast.





	

 

* * *

 

 _"Judas_ ," he says.

 _"_ The stars have formed within you. See the crowned shadow of them upon your skin." Jesus of Nazareth takes Judas' hand, fingers tracing the path of creases with a certain intimacy.

"Know that thy palms are sinful and dirty. No river may cleanse them, no love shall touch them 'lest it be from mine own body. Know that I have cared not about the blemishes, but you." 

Judas closes his eyes. 

"Judas," Jesus whispers. "That I should hear your voice, I would call upon my father to turn thy cheek to gaze upon me. To will your tongue to speak."

 It has been six nights since they parted ways from twelve devoted disciples, five days since mandrakes and a kiss upon the cheek. Judas has hardly uttered a word since. He'd placed his lips upon God's own son as though he, Judas, were worthy.

In return, the prophet had fallen to his knees in prayer. He'd fervently sought council with his father and received nothing but the echo of his own voice. 

Truthfully, it was painful. 

Brutally honest, it felt as though Judas had been spat upon. 

"Do you have need of me?" Judas replies, voice hoarse from misuse. His hand is resting beneath calused outstretched fingers. 

Jesus rises from the stone bench they sit upon and pulls the other man up with him. In the distance, the sky is becoming a mural - a breathtaking display of lilacs and streaks of orange.

When it hits olive skin and a strong jaw, the disciple wonders if God above can hear the rush of his heartbeat. 

 

 _I would slay every Roman for him. God, If y_ _ou're listening, hear the adoration in every breath. Thirty years is but a blink. We have only begun._

 

"Do not doubt me, my Judas." Jesus replies, eyes downcast. "The heavens may cast thee out, the tree's branches may creak when the wind blows but I. I will always have need of thee. I prayed for thy soul, that my father who reigns in heaven, will see thee as I do." 

Judas eyes open, he looks upon the son of man. What right have I, he thinks- to love him as I do, as flowers to water.

At times, Jesus' tongue is sharp; he speaks of coming as a sword without peace. But when they speak of holy, holy, holy, Judas thinks not of war and blood.

He knows the truth of a person can lie in sun weathered fingers, the hint of a smile, a mandrake kiss. 

Unwavering, hazel eyes fill with dread and worry. Surely he, Judas, will be shunned from his own brothers in Christ, they shall not hesitate to throw hot stones upon him.

Later, Jesus would lecture about males loving males, about the impossibility of becoming a priest at his alter as a consequence.

Judas would wilt on the inside, he would pray for death and receive nothing. 

 

This is how it will end, he is sure of it.

 

His hand warms under the weight of Jesus'. His tunic sticks to his back, its ragged hem reminding him to be humble. Blessed be the meek.

"I should not have kissed you, my lord. I beg in hope of forgiveness."   

Jesus drags in a ragged breath, unflinching. "I have chosen thee for a reason. As though a spotted cow in a field of solid, you are preordained to stand apart. I have love for thee in my heart." 

Judas blinks back tears. "As the others?" He asks, awaiting the blow of a love more akin to blood brothers, to followers, than lovers.

"Thrice as much," Jesus replies tenderly. The grip on Judas' hand becomes the catalyst for putting action into words. 

 

_"Judas."_

 

(On the right lips, his name sounds like a luminous aeon - echoing an endless love) 

 

When they kiss, the sun slips beneath the horizon, Judas cannot help how his starving hands rove over naked skin nor how the scratchy tunic feels against his knuckles as he lifts it up and over. Jesus, son of God, falls apart in his  _(his)_ arms. 

Judas' tired feet may never walk upon the floors of heaven, he may never kiss the lord thy God without hiding behind bushes, in caves. 

But.

This life is enough. 

* * *

 

 

 


End file.
